He Hath No Power That Hath Not

What Men Call Accident Is God's Own Part.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.

The Sun, Centre And Sire Of Light, The Keystone Of The World-built Arch Of Heaven.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.